Let Go In Small Doses
by sunsetdreamer
Summary: Booth. Brennan. Pelant. A three year jump into the speculative future. Fic can also be described as, 'sunsetdreamer trying to make sense of/find her footing in the new Bones world'. All aboard the crazy train.
1. Prologue

*waves timidly* I've done something crazy. Actually. Seriously. My hands are mega sweaty right now and I wish I was kidding but I'm not and I'm pretty sure that if it wasn't almost 5am and I wasn't riding a mega caffeine buzz I wouldn't even be doing this because I would have more sense than to start posting just yet. But I've been sitting on this for a while and I think I need to just dive into it.

I can't promise that the updates will be swift and/or regular, but I can promise that I have a huge chunk written (including the end in its entirety!) and though I'm slow oftentimes, I've never actually NOT finished a fic. So I think I should get half points. Maybe.

My (thin) justification for this is that it took four seasons to wrap up the Gravedigger arc. In my head this means that I can go right ahead and stretch the Pelant timeline just as far for fic purposes.

If anyone needs me, well... good luck with that. I'm closing my eyes as I hit post and then I'm hiding.

* * *

**Let Go in Small Doses**

I wake up in the morning or the middle of the night,  
I look at you and I know it's alright.

**How They Want Me to Be, **Best Coast

_She's at her best with Booth when she doesn't over think things. When she's honest and her guard is down and the right words just find their way through to him. In the now, she can feel her mind racing. It's everything she can do to keep at bay this constant itch of borderline panic, this thought that she's losing her grip on this thing she barely had before it was all snatched away, and everything she says is wrong. But there's no going back. She can only keep talking. And with every sentence she feels things getting worse but she's nervous and at some point, controlling her speech becomes a task beyond her control. All she can do is keep going. Because who knows what he will say to her if she stops. _

_**You are not a very reassuring person, Bones. **_

_And she isn't. She knows everything is coming out wrong. Knows she's digging a hole. But it's like breakfast, when she could feel the wrongness so intensely she couldn't even cook pancakes. She doesn't know what to do, and she keeps racing in the wrong direction because it's less terrifying than stopping and facing the mess she's created. Than facing the fact that she __**needs**__ Booth so damn much more than is healthy and it's possible that after everything that's happened, he may not need her the same way._

_**I'm nice now. I make French Toast. **_

_(See me. I am not a burden.) _

_He can't __**define**__ the feeling, even to himself. So there is little he can do to relieve the mixture of wariness and confusion he so often finds in her expression. No, he isn't angry (though he suspects that if she asks him __**one**__ more time, he will be)._

_The thing is, he gets it. He __**gets**__ it. She's afraid and she's out of her element – again – and she is simply reacting. But she had disappeared for three months and no matter how necessary the run had been, no matter how hard she had found the decision, there is nothing worse than being left behind. And what she's doing, the way she is reacting, it is not okay._

_Eyes closed. I love you. Over the phone. I love you. Text messages. I love you. Dropped because they know the importance of the phrase and the emotion is there, but they cannot, they __**cannot**__ bring themselves to look one another in the eye and say the words. It's far too painful._

_(See me. Need me. Remember that I am valuable.)_

_It's especially difficult to swallow because they've been floating in this state of... complacency, since becoming a couple. The arguments have not been real arguments, the resolutions have not been __**real **__resolutions, but they are happy. So happy. And everything else can wait._

_But three months is too much time. There is no going back to that place and while they would have never considered themselves 'normal' enough for a honeymoon period, it becomes painfully evident – once it ends – that they had been average in ways they hadn't expected. And even though they know – they really do __**know **__– that they are complicated and difficult to define and far removed from normal, it stings when it stops being easy. As they sit across from one another at the kitchen table with their daughter between them (literally between them, figuratively between them, keeping them connected when it seems so very possible that without her, in this moment, they would fall apart) there's that old, uncomfortable feeling that had often followed their moments of deepest intimacy and deepest distance alike throughout the life they had lived __**before **__(Before Christine. Before Broadsky. Even before Hannah). They don't know where they stand with one another. All they can agree on (without speaking; because everything in this place relies on subtext) is that they'll continue to stand __**near **__one another. Or, when even that is too great a burden, they will just continue to stand. _

_Stand, and refuse to consider any possibility other than that it will be enough._

* * *

The Mighty Hut was a mess.

It was impossible to keep the house hospital tidy when one of the occupants was only four years old (even Brennan accepted this), but though the home looked lived-in, it also happened to look neat. Most of the time. Booth stepped around deadly pieces of Lego and absently wondered whether his partner ever let things get quite this bad when _he_ was the one called away for work.

It made him feel a little better to imagine that this was the case. That the house fell equally to pieces whenever either one of them was left to play the single parent, and Brennan just happened to be skilled at putting the place back together prior to his return.

He stepped on a hidden Lego block and – since stepping on Lego was goddamn close to the worst thing that could ever happen to a person – internalised the curse on the tip of his tongue with great effort, mindful of the small child sleeping upstairs.

Christine didn't take naps, typically. And when she did play hard and succumb to exhaustion, it never lasted long. So with these facts in mind, Booth silently moved up the stairs, coffee in hand, and headed toward Brennan's office.

...Because it was one of the last clean spaces standing and she wasn't around to object.

The paperwork that accompanied a closed case was far from his favourite thing on the best of days, but he had come to take his partner's assistance in this department for granted over the years, and if he hadn't already put this off as long as possible, he'd be tempted to leave it the extra three days remaining before she was due back. But the knowledge that Brennan could make this work meant that he could too. Even if he was out of practice.

So he resolutely laid the files out on her desk, and he managed to get nearly halfway through his pile before he heard it.

Thump.

Booth looked up and frowned, but when no sound immediately followed, he turned back to the report in front of him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He threw his pen down and stood up, wandering into the hall after the noise. "Chris?"

His daughter didn't answer, but the thumping grew louder as he descended the staircase and neared the front hall.

"Christine? Where are you?"

Booth flung open the closet door and pushed aside the wide range of jackets to reveal the little girl sitting against the back wall. What _had _been the back wall. There was a gaping hole in the drywall and Booth suspected that Parker's baseball bat – held in Christine's too small hands – had something to do with it.

"Hi, daddy."

"What are you doing?" He snapped himself out of his stupor and snatched the bat out of her hands. "Give me that."

"I'm looking for Narnia. I know magic isn't real, but it's good to make sure, right?"

Booth shook his head and hauled her out of the closet, rearranging the coats to cover the hole in hopes that Bones wouldn't see it before he had time to fix it.

"Why do you only do things like this when daddy's watching you, huh? Do you enjoy it when your mother yells at me?"

"No," she shook her head, "but I _had _to see. It was an experiment."

"Narnia wasn't even through a closet, you goof. It was a wardrobe."

"I _know_." Christine rolled her eyes in a very Brennan-like fashion. "But we don't have any wardrobes. And I think a closet is kind of like what a wardrobe would be like, maybe."

Booth scooped her up easily with one arm and carried her up the stairs, tossing the bat into Parker's room before heading back to Brennan's office.

"No more destroying things in the house with baseball bats, alright?" He set her down on the floor and pulled one of her books off a shelf. "I shouldn't even have to tell you things like that."

She took the book from his outstretched hand and began to skip out of the room, only to stop suddenly in her tracks at Booth's authoritarian call.

"Hold up there, Missy."

"Yes?" she answered innocently.

Booth smirked and stared pointedly at the couch in the corner. "Park it."

"But-

"Nope. I have to finish this and you apparently can't be left on your own. You sit where I can see you until I'm done or until mommy gets home. Whichever comes first."

"Mommy won't be home until Thursday."

"Yeah, well, you should have thought of that before you started putting holes in walls."

Christine sighed and reluctantly settled on the floor with the picture book spread out in front of her, making sure to loudly breathe her continued displeasure every few seconds. In the years since Christine began talking, Booth had been repaid many times over for all the evenings he had sat fidgeting in Brennan's company, making a distraction of himself as he waited for her to finish reports and examinations. Not for the first time, as Christine flipped onto her back and began kicking her legs absently in the air, Booth wondered how Brennan had still managed to get things done.

His phone buzzed against the desk and Christine sat up attentively to watch him answer it.

"Hey, Bones."

"Hi."

She sounded tired; that was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was the way his daughter hovered cautiously near the desk – instead of clamouring into his lap to try and wrestle the phone from him as usual – while she waited to see how much of her latest adventure he was going to share.

"You back at your hotel?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Booth was just about to repeat his question when she answered.

"I'm in a cab."

He glanced at his watch. "Late dinner?"

Christine concluded that Booth wasn't presently planning to tell Brennan about the closet wall, and she pulled herself up on the arm of the computer chair and leaned toward the phone.

"Hi, Mommy!"

Brennan's low laugh sounded in his ear.

"Hello, Christine."

"Careful; you're gonna hurt yourself." Booth pulled Christine into the chair and activated the speakerphone function before placing his cell on the desk. "She can hear you, okay? You don't have to shout."

Christine lowered her voice. Just barely. "We slept in the living room yesterday," she informed Brennan proudly. "In a fort."

"That sounds entertaining."

Christine nodded enthusiastically and Booth set out to assuage the hint of wariness he had picked up in Brennan's reply. "Don't worry, Bones. We'll have it all cleaned up before you get back."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," she responded wryly.

He was still thinking of a reply when he heard a car door slam simultaneously through the phone and the street just outside the house. He sat up straight and listened intently, and in his lap, Christine picked up on the change in his mood and watched his face with excitement.

"What? What is it?"

Instead of answering, Booth winked before jumping out of the chair with her and bounding out of the room.

Christine gripped his shirt tightly as he ran down the stairs. "Wait; we forgot to say bye to-

Booth opened the front door and Christine gasped, pumping her legs to be put down at the sight of the taxi cab and the partially obscured glimpse of Brennan standing on the driveway.

"Mommy!"

Brennan stood straight, phone still tucked between her ear and her shoulder. "Hello... where are your shoes?"

Christine threw herself at her mother with so much force that Brennan had to take a half step back to keep her balance, and the phone fell out of her grip and clattered onto the asphalt. Booth approached at a more subdued pace and bent to pick up her phone before pulling her toward him, Christine sandwiched between them, and placing a kiss on her upturned lips.

"Look at you, being all sneaky."

Brennan grinned and adjusted her hold on their daughter. "I can be very sneaky."

She looked exhausted. Which made sense, Booth supposed, when she had spent the better part of a week digging through charred rubble.

In tune with his thoughts, Christine crinkled her nose. "Your hair smells funny."

"I'm aware."

Booth gathered her bags and shut the cab door, and in another minute they were walking toward the open front entrance.

"Booth..." Brennan began, her tone a mixture of disbelief and disappointment when she stepped inside and took in the state of the ground floor.

"I know. I'm sorry. Catch some sleep, okay? I'll have all this sorted by the time you wake up."

"I wanna come," Christine chimed in.

Booth opened his mouth to insist she stay with him, knowing how little sleep Brennan was likely to get with her company, but Brennan shook her head. "It's fine, Booth. I would like to spend some time with her."

Booth nodded his head and gave her another quick kiss. As she turned to walk up the stairs, he touched her arm just before she left his reach. "Hey."

Brennan turned expectantly toward him.

"I'm glad you're home."

She fixed him with a crooked smile. "Me too."

* * *

It took the better part of an hour and a half to restore order to the house (still much faster than it would have taken had Christine been underfoot). Bed sheets were taken down from the living room and thrown in the laundry, pillows were returned to the cupboards and beds from which they had been borrowed. Pasta sauce was scrubbed from the stove top and pieces of dropped, hardened spaghetti were removed (with great difficulty) from beneath Christine's usual seat at the table. He hadn't had a moment alone with his partner yet, had barely said hello to her, but already he felt her presence in the house. Everything felt easier when he knew she was only a floor away. By the time he had picked up and stored the last of the Lego it was nearing Christine's bedtime, and he climbed the stairs to drag her from Brennan's side and get her in the bathtub so that his partner could get a few hours of much needed sleep.

What he found, once he reached the master bedroom, distracted him temporarily from this goal.

Brennan was half covered by the blanket, fast asleep, one arm slung over their daughter. Christine lay on her stomach studying her mother quietly. Motionless. More still than Booth had seen her in any given moment since Brennan had left.

She looked up when Booth leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. "She's sleeping," she whispered.

The corner of Booth's mouth quirked upward. "So she is," he agreed lowly. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you in the bath. Time for bed."

Christine nodded and kissed Brennan's cheek softly before scrambling off the bed and tiptoeing into the hall.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Can I stay home with Mom tomorrow instead of going to daycare?"

"We'll see in the morning, okay? I'm not sure she's staying home; she may want to check in at work."

"But she's home early. Nobody in the lab has to know; I won't tell."

Booth chuckled and turned on the faucets while Christine dutifully pulled off her clothes. "I promise we'll at least get breakfast, alright? Sound fair?"

Christine nodded and raised her arms to be lifted into the high tub.

Regardless of the short nap she had taken earlier, it had been a high energy day, and by the time Booth pulled the stopper on the bath water, Christine was rubbing her eyes sleepily. She allowed him to carry her down the hall to her bedroom and offered drowsy assistance while Booth helped her into her pajamas, and though she insisted on a story (because she abhorred change in her routines as much as her parents), she was dead to the world before Booth finished the third page.

Brennan hadn't moved by the time he made his way back to their bedroom, and he did his best not to disturb her as he slipped into the bed. It was still early by their usual standards, but if everyone else was sleeping, he couldn't see any reason not to give it a go as well.

"Is she sleeping?" Brennan asked, eyes still closed.

Booth shifted freely beneath the covers following this indication that she was awake, and then his hand came to rest comfortably on her hip. "Out like a light."

"Good," she murmured. "Did I miss anything?"

"Not a thing, Bones," Booth assured her, absently tracing patterns over her hip bone. "Smooth sailing on the home front."

"Good," she repeated. Eyes still closed, she pushed her face deeper into her pillow. "Tell me something happy."

Booth frowned at the odd request and his hand stilled. "Are you okay?"

"I would like for you to share with me something happy," she insisted.

Even when she was barely conscious (perhaps especially then), there were times when he found himself powerless against her.

"Christine's decided she wants to be a forensic anthropologist."

Both eyes finally opened. "Really?"

"For animals."

"Oh."

"I thought it was pretty cute."

"She is very imaginative."

"I'm hoping that by next week we can graduate up to FBI agent for animals."

Brennan chuckled softly and closed her eyes once more. "I wish you could have come with me."

"Missed me, Bones?"

"No." Her eyes opened again and glittered intensely, the way they did when she was facing a puzzle and she hadn't yet managed to solve it. "Something was wrong. At the site; something didn't make sense."

"Something like what?"

"I don't know. That's why I found myself wishing you could have been there."

"Like a crime scene?" Booth reached, hoping to fall somewhere close to her train of thought.

"Exactly. Yes."

An earthquake in Washington had caused a fire in a small, privately owned chemical research lab, and the subsequent explosion had claimed the lives of nearly everyone in the building. Brennan had received the call requesting her assistance, and she had been well on her way to the airport by the time the story first aired on television.

Tragic, yes. Criminal? The thought hadn't crossed his mind.

Brennan watched him closely for signs of doubt. "I know it seems unlikely. Forensically, the injuries and markings on all the recovered bodies are consistent with an explosion and prolonged exposure to high heat."

"But?"

"But..."

"But something didn't make sense."

She nodded again and kept her eyes away from his even though all hints of sleep had vanished. She hadn't intended to even mention the passing unease that had appeared despite everything she uncovered being textbook average. Nevertheless, amidst everyday, normal conversation between them, it had slipped out. And she wasn't quite sorry for it.

"Do you remember the name of the Fire Chief?"

"Of course, Booth," Brennan replied somewhat haughtily. "I'm not incapable of-

"I'll give them a call tomorrow. And the state police."

She shook her head. "It's probably not necessary."

"It can't hurt anything."

"It could, potentially. Statistically, law enforcement agencies outside the FBI harbour a great deal of resentment when the FBI assumes control of cases by force."

"I'm not assuming control, Bones. Just asking a few questions. Otherwise your brain isn't going to let it go."

She nodded and then offered him a crooked smile. "I find that having an FBI contact to expedite processes such as these has yet to leave me feeling less than incredibly satisfied."

"Are you telling me you've been using me all these years for my position?"

"And your body," she added easily.

"Welcome home, Bones. Welcome home."


	2. Chapter 1

How many rules must I break?

How many lies can I make?

How many roads must I turn

to find me a place where the bridge hasn't burned.

**What Can I Say, **Brandi Carlile

_It takes more than three months. Booth is separated from the woman he loves, from his child, for over __**three **__**months **__before they find the evidence they need to clear her name. Good ultimately triumphs over evil, and that is the end. Brennan and Booth are reunited (and reinstated) and that is the end. Because haven't they done this a thousand times before? Except it isn't._

_He watches her bitterness grow and he can't blame her for resenting the time that was stolen from them. Resenting the fact that they could have caught Pelant sooner if she hadn't been forced to put all her efforts into getting out of the city and proving she hadn't committed senseless, coldblooded murder._

_One day he finds her in the baby's room, viciously attacking the walls. Curls of paint and drywall lie at her feet._

"_We can paint over it, Bones," he says softly._

_She doesn't even look at him. She grits her teeth and continues stripping the wall bare. "I don't want to 'paint over it,' Booth. We are starting over."_

_The inclusive pronoun choice would have comforted him once. Today he feels just as lost as he had when he walked in. But he leaves the room to retrieve another scraper and then he comes back to help her without another word._

"_I was having second thoughts about our colour choice anyway," she says, in what he assumes she probably believes to be a casual tone._

_It's a lie. The paint colour had been chosen with as much care as everything else in the room. __**Perfect**__. That had been the word she had used when they had finally placed the last piece of furniture in its exact right spot. __**It's perfect, Booth**__. She uses the word sparingly and the fact that he had heard it from her in regards to their house not once but __**twice**__ in just a matter of weeks, it had floored him in the best way._

_But he notes the stubborn clench of her jaw as she keeps her eyes on the wall and silently dares him to question her words, and he lets it go._

"_Sure, Bones."_

_It doesn't get better._

_The distance between them grows, the bitterness grows, and there is quiet – so much quiet – as they tiptoe around one another. But everything must change and nothing is static and when Booth comes home one day and finds Brennan waiting for him at the island, a glass of wine in front of her and a tumbler full of scotch already poured for him, the air rushes out of his lungs. He's seen the look on her face more times than he can count (outside a pool hall, outside the bar), and he hasn't always recognised it __**in time **__in the past, but the last time (outside of a church, not-quite-four-months-ago) is so deeply imprinted, he's sure he will never miss it again._

"_I have something I would like to discuss with you."_

"_Discuss?" he's undeniably wary as he edges into the room. And though he sits on the barstool across from her, he doesn't even move to take off his suit jacket. "As in, you have a proposal, and we're going to talk about it, or more as in you've decided to do something, and you're going to tell me about it?"_

_It stings. She pulls her sweater tighter around her as she shivers and wonders why she can't remember their house always being so very cold. "That's not fair."_

_Booth plays with the glass, but he doesn't drink from it. "What is it?"_

_Her mouth is strangely dry, but she swallows and rips off the Band-Aid. Because she is not strong enough to handle a more delicate approach. He's sitting in front of her and he's waiting for an answer, and she just wants the words __**out**__._

"_There's a dig... it's in Italy. I want to go."_

_She watches his face change and immediately concludes that she should have tried for delicate. Or at least, detailed. Because he doesn't understand. He's beginning to panic and he doesn't __**understand**__ what she's asking._

"_Bones, this is crazy."_

"_It's not crazy."_

"_You can't seriously be considering..." he runs a hand through his hair and stands, abandoning his untouched drink in favour of pacing the length of the island. "If you need time, you can take some time. Time __**here**__. You don't have to go to Europe for time, Bones."_

_They have a track record; these things almost always end badly and Brennan can't fault his increasing agitation. She steps forward and cups his face in her hands. _

"_Come with me." She leans in and whispers the words so close he can feel the vibrations against his lips. When she feels a protest building, she closes the quarter inch gap between their mouths and delivers a lingering feather-light kiss. "Don't think about it. Just say yes."_

_**Don't think. Brain in neutral. Heart in overdrive.**_

_To both of them, his typical urgings seem strange coming out of her mouth._

"_How long?" he asks._

_She closes her eyes in relief and tucks her head into his shoulder. "Five months," she promises, stroking the ends of his hair as she feels him stiffen. "Five months and then we'll come back to D.C."_

_She is careful not to say 'home'. At the moment, this city doesn't feel any more like home than all the cities she had lived in before it following the disintegration of her biological family._

"_I don't know."_

'_I don't know' generally preceded 'yes,' and though she tries to quell the instant swell of hope in her chest, she can't stop her stomach from fluttering with nervous anticipation. Either way, Brennan knows that in about twenty seconds Booth will make up his mind for good, and she will have little chance swaying him again after that point. She pushes on._

"_The scenery is beautiful; Christine will love it. And you will too, Booth."_

"_That's a long time to walk away from our lives."_

"_We can fly Parker out to see us every other weekend."_

"_He has school, Bones, we can't just-_

"_Once a month, then. Until his summer break begins."_

"_This is crazy," he repeats._

_For a moment, Brennan's anger bubbles to the surface and overrides the emotions so desperately pushing her to get them to leave __**together**__. "The FBI betrayed you. And me. The entire justice system failed us just like it did when we were children and I want no part in it. It's your job, Booth. It was never mine. I love you but I won't work with them or provide assistance in any way, ever again."_

_He kisses her and when his hands begin to tangle in her hair, for a split second, her heart soars. But it takes him far too long to open his eyes, and she knows what his answer will be before he gives it._

"_No."_

"_Why?" she argues. Her voice rises a little bit. Because she's hoping that his voice will rise as well, and she will have something to focus on beyond this terrible weight that is crushing her. "I want you to come with me. Come with me."_

"_I don't want to go to Italy. I want __**this **__life back, Bones. Here."_

"_Please?"_

_It's barely a whisper, and though she hears the desperation, she's far gone enough not to care._

"_Crossing an ocean isn't going to fix this."_

_He doesn't specify what 'this' is, and it feels like some sort of figurative miracle that the house has yet to collapse in on itself under the weight of everything they haven't said since she came back._

_Brennan's gaze is very fixedly focused on the floor when she gives a curt nod and returns to her side of the island. _

_She won't go without him (she's certain of this, and it's a new feeling, to know she has no desire to leave even though she is miserable every day she stays), but judging from the glances he continues to send her way as they sit in silence, he doesn't __**know **__this the way that she does. The way that he should. _

_It's not a baseless reaction for him to have. But again, it stings._

_Less than a week passes before they get their first case and Booth – Brennan's declarations of _ _**never **__still fresh in his mind – is prepared to wage war with her once he hangs up the phone. But she surprises him again and gets in the car without a word. He can tell by the resolute squaring of her jaw that she's less than happy, but she gets in the car._

_He's relieved. It had taken her over a year to – unwillingly – work with him again after declaring that she never would. He hadn't wanted to think about how long it could have potentially taken her to give in on this._

_But the victory is short lived._

_She's cool and professional and it ends up being a fairly open-and-shut case, and after it, they change._

_It starts with him; they've been operating in silence for so long and he's desperate to find some small piece of what they had before, and he starts being nice. Unnaturally nice. Forcefully nice. Even when (especially when) he thinks he might like to throttle her instead. And it doesn't take too long before she's being nice, too._

_It's her that figures out the sex part of the equation. That their bodies know what to do, how to respond to one another, when they do not. That fucking takes nothing out of them at all, mentally, compared to trying to have a conversation about something outside of work or Christine. So they have sex. A lot of sex. And when even that starts to become a little awkward, they get a little bit rougher, a little bit more persistent, and they push through it just like they've been pushing through everything else. By the time they reach the brink of orgasm, they're always on the same page; their pleas and their names and their declarations of love fall forth in a rush that's honest in a way nothing else is, now, and as they come down from their highs, chests heaving, there's the absent thought that maybe, this time, something will just change back. Like flipping a switch._

_But it doesn't._

"_I have an early meeting tomorrow."_

"_I was going to try to get some stuff done early too; want me to drive you?"_

"_That would be acceptable. Yes. Thank you."_

"_5:30 alarm?"_

"_That should be sufficient."_

_They don't bother saying goodnight anymore. The lights are already turned off (it's him that figures out easy sex is even easier when they can't see each other), and they find the blankets, turn their backs, face their walls, and prepare to begin again in less than six hours._

_And it works, for a while. But by the time the next case comes, the smooth casings of polite and nice are beginning to crack._

* * *

Brennan woke first. It usually took her a day or two to adjust back to sleeping more than a handful of hours at a time, after spending days working around the clock. But one of the benefits of this - a benefit she had come to enjoy very much - was the chance it gave her to watch Booth being... still.

Some days.

On this morning in particular, she was feeling well rested and content and subject to a little frivolity.

"Booth."

Her voice was low and patient. The first time. The second time went differently.

"Booth!"

"What?" Booth snapped, pulling his pillow over his face. "God, you can be so _annoying_."

"The current temperature is quite cold. The reading on my phone says 15 degrees."

"Fascinating."

"Let's go outside."

"What? Are you crazy... what time is it?" He finally yanked the pillow away and flipped over in less than his usual coordinated fashion to squint at the alarm clock. "Bones, it is four o'clock in the morning."

His tone had become quite calm, but she knew better than to take that as an indication he was feeling anything of the sort. "I would like to go outside. Please."

"Then go outside," he grumbled petulantly, placing the pillow back beneath his head and closing his eyes. "Seriously. Go."

Instead, she burrowed closer into his side and pulled the comforter over their heads. "Booth."

He opened his eyes and released an exasperated laugh. "What are you doing?"

"You become uncomfortably warm rather quickly like this. I'm hoping it makes you more amenable to a change in location."

By now, Booth was considerably more alert as well as considerably more resigned to the fact that he wasn't going back to bed. "What's outside, Bones?"

She shrugged. "Last year you said you wanted to make a skating rink for Christine. It's finally cold enough. I would like to watch."

He groaned and tried to ignore her earnest expression. "It's mid-November. The weather is all over the place right now... It could be forty degrees next week."

"I know," she shrugged again. "I just thought it would be nice to at least start. The supplies have been stored in the garage since last winter."

"Christine will freak out if she wakes up and we're both gone."

She gave him the mostly blank, slightly incredulous stare she reserved for particularly obtuse lapses in intellect. "I'm going to leave the door open enough to hear her when she inevitably begins to yell for us. Her voice carries, Booth."

"I wonder where she gets that."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Alright, Bones, you win; let's go build a rink. It's a damn good thing you're good looking."

"I'm quite beautiful by societal standards."

"By every standard, Bones. You're beautiful by every standard."

* * *

It didn't take long to lay out the plastic sheeting, and he made short work of assembling the curb-heighted border as well, but the temperature continued to drop and by the time Brennan was helping him untangle the garden hose, Booth was fucking freezing.

"Maybe we could save the flooding for tomorrow?"

"What? Why?" Brennan looked up from the knot in her hands and pushed her hat off her eyes. "We're almost done."

It was the hats. It was _always _the hats. They made her look… soft. And they stayed on her head even when by all appearances it seemed to him that they should fall right off. But Booth still made the half-hearted effort to sway her.

"It's going to take a while."

"I was going to stay home with Christine today; I can keep an eye on it if that's what concerns you."

"Speaking of Christine, I told her we'd go out for breakfast."

"That sounds appealing."

"Assuming we don't freeze to death before she wakes up."

Before Brennan could respond, the back door slid in its track and they both turned toward the noise.

"What are you doing?" Christine asked sleepily. She managed to take one half step outside before both parents reprimanded her simultaneously.

"Shoes!"

Christine took a hurried step back and shut the door. Though she looked less than pleased about it.

Booth rolled his eyes and tossed the untangled hose onto the plastic sheeting. "I don't understand how she can be so _loud _one moment and a damn ninja the next."

Brennan shook her head and then waved to the little girl tapping impatiently on the glass. "She's going to love this."

"Uh huh. And she's going to expect you to come out with her every day."

By the way she paused, Booth could see that this particular probability hadn't crossed her mind.

"What about you?"

"I already know how to skate. She can smell your fear."

"I can skate."

"Meh." His right hand tilted in a gesture that indicated _so-so _at best.

"I can skate, Booth."

"Uh huh."

Brennan slid the door open and caught Christine with practiced ease as she stepped over the threshold. "Good morning."

Christine laid her head flat on Brennan's shoulder. "Hi."

"Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Breakfast?"

"You sure you don't want to go back to bed?" Booth teased. Christine's grip tightened on Brennan's jacket and she eyed him mutinously. "Relax, kiddo. It was a joke. Yes; breakfast."

"Good. I'm not tired."

"Maybe not, but up this early? You're gonna be out by 3:00."

"No."

"We'll see," he winked at Brennan. "I'm going to call later."

Christine frowned as she processed this, and then her eyes lit up. She raised her head from Brennan's shoulder so that she could look her mother in the eye. "We're staying home today?" she asked excitedly.

"Yes, we are." Brennan laughed. While her work was rewarding, the coming home part – _this _coming home part – was nice too. "I missed you very much."

It was easier to leave her child now than it had been that first year, but it still wasn't _easy_. And sometimes she didn't even realise the truth of this until she was already back.

"I'm sorry for the closet."

It was Brennan's turn to frown. "Closet? What closet?"

"Oops," Christine whispered.

She turned to Booth for an explanation and noted his discomfort. "What is it?"

"We can talk about it at breakfast," Booth intervened, giving Christine a pointed look and lifting her out of Brennan's arms. "Thanks a lot, kid."

"Sorry."

"Brush your teeth and get dressed."

He set her on the ground and she sprinted eagerly toward the stairs, turning back on the second step and grinning in Brennan's direction. "I missed you too."

Once she disappeared from sight, Brennan turned to Booth, eyebrows raised. "Are you going to tell me, or should I wait for you to go to work and then ask Christine?"

He sighed and walked toward the closet without a word, leaving Brennan to follow. Then he pulled the door open and, with her leaning over his shoulder, pushed aside the coats strung along the rod.

And Brennan began to laugh. "She is... very strong."

"You're telling me."

"I believe that this puts me _two _points ahead of you."

"Wait a minute, Bones, that's not fair; you go away more often than I do."

"So?"

"So that's probability; plain and simple. Not to mention the fact that I can fix this in a half hour... it took _months _for her hair to grow back after Michael-Vincent cut it."

"_Angela_ was watching them when that happened! Not me!"

"Well, I was out of town and it counts. You don't get points for this."

"There's a sizeable hole in the wall, Booth. I get a point." She paused for a moment and then one half of her mouth quirked upward.

"What?"

"I am wondering what the volume of points in general says about us as parents."

Christine's footsteps approached the stairs and Booth shrugged before handing Brennan the child-sized winter coat and the purple hat that went with it. "She's perfectly well behaved in the public eye; that's about all we can ask for."

* * *

The diner was all but empty – not surprising, considering it wasn't yet seven – and Brennan was content to drink her coffee and absorb her daughter's nonstop chatter as she acclimated herself to being back home. Christine closed her mouth just long enough to chew her food and swallow before picking up her story exactly where she had left off; Brennan caught Booth's eye across the table and they shared a smile.

And she tried to relax. It was decidedly unpleasant, the sensation that she had missed something back in Washington. But it was still there in the back of her mind, making it even more difficult for her to adjust to the everyday pace of her life in D.C.

Booth sipped his coffee and then pushed his plate a few inches in Brennan's direction. "Eggs?"

Brennan grimaced and shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

"You can share my oatmeal," Christine offered.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm fine. Enjoy your food."

Booth's phone rang and both females watched him expectantly. Brennan reached for Christine's coat and began wrestling her into it out of habit, before Christine's protests reminded her that she wasn't expected back for another two days, and it was possible that the call didn't concern her.

Caroline's voice, displeased, by the sound of it – though with Caroline it was often difficult to tell one way or the other – was audible to Brennan, but she couldn't make out the specific words until Booth managed to push the prosecutor beyond her (limited) tolerance for questions.

"_What part of 'as soon as possible' do you not understand, Agent Booth?"_

"Okay!" Booth stood up and threw on his coat. Turning his attention to his breakfast companions, he muffled the phone into his shoulder. "I'll see you two later, alright? Have fun."

"Bye, Booth."

"Bye daddy."

He winked, and they watched him head toward the door. Christine kneeled on her chair to better look out the window, and sure enough, Booth turned just before stepping off the curb to wave at her one last time. Satisfied, she sat back on her bottom and guided her spoon through her oatmeal.

"Would you like to go to the library?" Brennan suggested.

Christine nodded enthusiastically. "Can we get hot chocolate?"

Brennan hesitated as she mentally weighed the odds of her daughter spilling her drink all over a book. Or an entire shelf of books.

"Afterward," she eventually answered. Because Christine had a knack for creating her own trouble even without the added arsenal of a hot beverage.

Christine contently leaned into her mother's side and then held a spoonful of oatmeal awkwardly above her head. And this time, Brennan opened her mouth and leaned down to accept the offering.

* * *

"You're gonna wanna sit down for this, chère."

Booth didn't sit, and Caroline didn't ask again.

"What happened?"

The prosecutor pursed her lips while she measured her words. "Christopher Pelant was flagged not too long ago by an ATM camera about a mile from here. Knowing what we do about him, I'm going to go ahead and assume it was an intentional slip up on his part."

For several seconds there was silence. And when Booth found his voice, the response stemmed more from a need to say _something _while he weighed this new knowledge than anything else.

"What?"

"Our prodigal narcissistic sociopath has returned, and I wanted to look you in the eye when I told you the news so I could be certain your pretty face isn't lying to me when I ask you not to go doing anything rash."

His hand was already unconsciously drifting toward his service weapon. "Why? Why now?"

Caroline glanced at the hand currently hovering still and uncertain above his gun, and then she looked pointedly back at his face, eyebrows raised. "You have yet to tell me you're not going to run off and do something rash."

It was hot in his office. Too hot. Stifling. There was rage slow-burning inside him, hijacking his ability to think, to speak... driving the temperature through the roof. And under the rage something... else. Fear. Fear as his brain instinctively concluded that he had had so much to lose the last time and all the more to lose this time, and he was going to _kill _that fucker.

"Nothing rash," he muttered absently.

"Mm hmm. I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you that you damn near threw your career out the window the last time you had this particular wild look in your eye concerning Pelant."

Booth's hand found his poker chip and moved it furiously through his fingers. "Nothing rash. I said nothing rash, Caroline."

"I know you didn't just lie to my face, Seeley Booth."

Booth couldn't even hear her anymore. The buzzing in his ears seemed to be increasing alongside the temperature.

Caroline's face softened. "Look, chère, your crack team of scientists may be batty, but they're also brilliant. Pelant has made mistakes before and you can bet he'll make them again."

"Before or after he goes after my partner and forces her to take off with our kid again?" Booth snapped. "You remember what he did to Hodgins and Angela. I shot him, Caroline. He isn't likely to let that go."

"_That _part of the equation is between you and Dr. Brennan," Caroline stated definitively. "But I'd like to believe the two of you learned from that experience. Specifically, learned that running from the law is a terrible idea that causes all sorts of headaches for everyone involved. Especially federal prosecutors."

Booth walked around his desk and sat heavily in his chair.

"Thanks for letting me know," he said absently.

She nodded. "They're still pulling footage from the camera. When they've got a tape ready, you'll be the first to hear about it."

Booth nodded automatically and barely registered the sound of his door closing behind her. And then, lacking other immediate tasks and quite certain he wasn't in the mindset to even pretend to go through paperwork, he did a quick database search and made the promised call to the fire chief on Brennan's behalf.

He told himself his reasons for not calling his partner were valid.

Phones were never a good idea when Pelant was involved.

He didn't have the tape yet.

She was bonding with their daughter after being gone for nearly a week.

But a few hours later, he found himself putting on his coat and leaving the office.

* * *

The front door opened and closed so softly she almost didn't hear it at all. Before she could get out of her office chair, however, Booth appeared in her doorway.

She startled, but any irritation she would have ordinarily experienced was extinguished by his solemn expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Christine asleep?"

"Yes. Just as you predicted she would be. Probably for no longer than another twenty minutes, I would estimate... half an hour at most. But why-

The kiss was hard. Aggressive. She made a brief protest against his mouth and then she was backed up against the bookshelf and her bra was somewhere on the floor across the room. They hadn't had a chance to have sex since she had come back; last night she had been far too tired for the thought to even cross her mind, and then this morning they had gone straight from building the rink to visiting the diner. And though there were parts of Brennan still questioning the cause of this sudden urgency, her body recognised Booth. Recognised how long it had been since it had found completion with Booth. And a far more primal instinct took control, banishing all thoughts of what and why to a distant second.

Fuelled by the knowledge that their daughter could awaken at any moment, Brennan pushed off the bookshelf and marched him backward toward the couch in the corner. They fell heavily onto the cushions and Booth grunted as Brennan's elbow caught him in the stomach. He tugged on her leggings and nipped at her collar in satisfaction when the material gave easily.

"You should wear these all the time," he muttered before reattaching his lips to hers.

She laughed against his mouth. "We've discussed this before, Booth. They're hardly professional work attire."

"Like anyone would stop you."

"You are very adept at removing my clothes. The seconds saved by a lack of buttons and zippers are hardly enough to significantly impact the process."

They were comfortable. Just as they had been so many times before. Just as they had been the _last _time. His thoughts fell to Hodgins and Angela, drugged, while Michael-Vincent was left at the mercy of Pelant. To Caroline's musings that Pelant always managed to outdo his previous attacks. And he shuddered at the thought of what he might have in store for their family considering that Booth had _shot _him.

With new determination, Booth pushed her long shirt up toward her shoulders, exposing her bare chest.

"Off."

"Booth. _What's wrong_."

She was more insistent this time, and there was a pause.

Years one and two had been about building trust. About letting someone else in despite being _so _accustomed to doing things alone. Years three to five had been about family. About accepting that you do things for the people you love the most, even when it's painful. Year six had been a lesson in patience. Gratitude. Regret. In not taking the constants for granted because one never knew when they wouldn't be constant any longer. Year seven; adaptation. Acknowledging the permanence of change. Year eight enforced the importance of forgiveness. Nine, compromise. And in ten and eleven, the slow realisation that equality sometimes meant putting the difficult things on the table in a timely fashion. Because an attempt at sparing feelings or protecting the other person could too often – after the fact – be read as a betrayal.

"Pelant's back," Booth said lowly, eyes still closed, fingers still tucked beneath the edge of her underwear.

Her eyes focused on his, bright and sharp and lacking all trace of the disoriented lust from seconds earlier.

She stiffened. It had been so long since she had heard that name, and yet, a handful of syllables from Booth and she was right back where she had been when she had left him outside the church. When everything between them had been wrong for months. When Agent Flynn had taken so many bullets and it could have so easily been Booth.

_Whatever's next, we'll handle it. We always do._

She tried to find that sense of calm, but the thought of over three years of not knowing, the thought of what a mind like Pelant's could create in that time, left her feeling cold.

"I stand by what I said the last time," she said carefully. She shifted her weight to her knees and rested her hands comfortably atop the hard plane of his stomach. "It's your decision, Booth. What do we do?"

Booth's gaze hardened. "We do what we do best."

His index finger slowly sank into her, and she gasped.

"Find him?" she breathed.

"Find him," Booth agreed. "The Brain Trust can find him. And then I kill him."

The words were casual. Matter of fact. But the implication in finding him and killing him and _what we do best _didn't sit right with her. Because while she knew the kind of person he was, there were times when he didn't. And the most casual phrases were often more than they were.

"Killing is not what you do best," she said, fighting to still the movement of her hips.

A second finger joined the first and she instinctively rolled into him.

"This ends here. I'm not doing his little dance and then giving him another three years to recalculate."

"It's your decision," Brennan repeated, leaning down to ghost her lips over his. "But do not give him the power to influence who you are. You still believe in the system, Booth."

"No more talking," he mumbled, closing his eyes as her sure hands worked the clasp of his belt buckle.

"No more talking," Brennan agreed.

* * *

Parker liked science. He liked how very easy science could be when your dad's girlfriend was a genius who could talk about anything and everything concerning science for as long as you let her. And as he doodled in the margins of his notebook, pausing every so often to jot down actual information, his mind drifted between the lesson and the snow coming down outside the large side window.

Until the gentle lilt of his teacher's voice was interrupted by the shrill ring of a cell phone.

Parker sat up straight along with the rest of his classmates, smirking as he turned in his seat to catch sight of the student inevitably scrambling for their phone.

Except, the classmate seated behind him was giving him the same look.

To his right, Julia Gray giggled and at the front of the class, his science teacher cleared his throat. Parker felt his face flush as he fumbled through the top pocket of his backpack for what was apparently _his _disruptive phone.

"Seriously, Parker?"

His face grew more heated. "I swear I had it on silent. That's not even my ringtone..."

"You know the rules. On my desk; you can come back for it at the end of the day."

Parker sighed. When he unlocked the phone to silence it, a picture of a locker filled his screen and his irritation tripled. He was _certain _that he had never, at any point, ever, programmed his phone to shriek obnoxiously over an incoming photo. Which led him to believe that his sister had probably fiddled with the settings while he had been at his dad's house over the weekend.

"Today, Booth."

With another sigh, Parker trudged up the aisle and placed his phone at the centre of the desk.

The lesson resumed once he returned to his seat, and the redness was just beginning to fade from his cheeks when the phone went off for the second time. Parker resisted the urge to put his head on his desk and wait for the ground to swallow him.

By the fourth time it went off, he had sailed beyond embarrassment and was fantasising about locking his sister in a closet the next time he saw her.

Thankfully, the bell rang soon after that.

He took his time gathering his things, enduring the teasing of a few friends with good natured eye rolling, and made his way to the front of the room once it had emptied.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Hamilton."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Lady Gaga fan," the teacher responded dryly.

Parker shoved back unruly locks of blond hair. "I'm _not_. It's my sister. She's only four... I thought I turned it off after the first time..."

As if on cue, the phone began to ring once again and they both turned to it.

The man deliberated for a moment, then tossed the phone in Parker's direction. "Don't let it happen again."

"No, sir." Parker beamed his father's smile as he caught the cell with ease. "Thank you."

He hurried out of the room before a change of mind could occur, and found one of his friends waiting for him in the hall.

"He gave it back?" Kyle questioned incredulously.

Parker paused just before making his reply as he browsed through the messages. Six photos. Six photos of the same locker, all coming from a number he didn't recognise.

"I don't get it," he mused aloud.

Kyle peeked at the screen. "That's pretty random," he agreed.

"These numbers... they're the lockers by the gym, right?"

"Closer to shop class, I think, but yeah."

Parker turned into the nearest stairwell and jogged down to the first floor, and together, the boys travelled the short distance to the small group of lockers located just around the corner from the change rooms. He checked the photo once again and when he located the appropriate locker – combination lock free – he gave a curious tug.

Then he took a horrified step back.

"Holy shit." Kyle took a step closer. "What do you think it's made out of?"

Parker swallowed. "It's not _made _out of anything. That," he pointed to the headless, decomposing body, "is real."

"What?" Kyle laughed. "Of course it's not real."

He reached to touch it and Parker grabbed his arm. "My stepmom literally works with dead bodies for a living. I'm telling you, it's real."

His friend eyed him dubiously, waiting for a punch line that wasn't coming. When the truth sunk in, he backed away and repeated his first phrase... terror replacing his previous admiration.

"Holy shit."

Parker slammed the door shut and forced a few deep breaths while his heart pounded in his chest. "I think," he began in a – relatively – calm tone of voice that shook only slightly, "I think I need to call my dad."

* * *

Booth lay on the floor beside the couch, pants pulled up (but undone), and shirt missing in action. He looked up at the sound of Brennan's laugh and twisted his neck to get as good a look at her as he could manage without actually getting up.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, especially. I find that, despite having adequate time to recover, I am reluctant to move from this spot."

"You're telling me."

He had – very chivalrously – rolled off the couch to retrieve her clothes, and somehow never made it back. The bra and shirt he had picked up off the floor dangled over the edge of the couch, and she lounged on her back in a position similar to his.

She turned her head and peeked down at him. "When do you think you will receive the video footage? Angela should examine it."

Booth shrugged. "Soon, I would think." He glanced at his watch. "We should get up. Christine could walk in here any minute."

Brennan hummed affirmatively, but made no move to follow through.

"Seriously, Bones."

"I heard you, Booth."

His phone chirped, and Brennan was finally forced to move so that she could dig it out from between the cushions.

He thanked her automatically before answering. "Booth."

"Hey, Booth." Cam's voice floated into his ear. "I'm going to need you to come over to the lab."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Well..."

He waited.

"...there's a human head sitting in about a thousand pieces on my table, and I sure as hell am not the person who left it here."

He sat up. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, Seeley." She sounded annoyed now more than anything else. "I've asked every employee and every intern that's been in here since I left last night. No one knows anything about it."

"Alright. Got it. We'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and noted Brennan, fully dressed, standing by the door.

"You heard?"

"Enough," she nodded. "I'll call my dad to stay with Christine."

The phone chirped again and Booth sighed as he answered. "Hey, Parker. Can I call you back in a little while? I'm..." he frowned, "... shouldn't you be in school right now?"

"I'm at school, dad."

Booth tugged his shirt over his head. "What's wrong?"

There was dead air between them for a moment, and then Parker spoke.

"I think you should come here. And maybe bring... whoever's pretending to do Bones' job while she's gone, with you."

* * *

Booth pushed through the crowd that had formed near the lockers and exhaled in relief when he spotted the tall figure of his son.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded.

"No." Parker ducked away from his touch and glanced around to see if any of his peers had witnessed the near-contact.

Booth felt another stab of relief. If his son was feeling normal enough to want distance between them while in public view of others his age, he probably wasn't in need of a therapist. Yet.

"What happened."

"My phone rang in class..." his voice trailed off as he remembered exactly whose fault that had been. "... _Christine _changed all the settings. My teacher took it from me."

Booth rolled his eyes. "Focus, Parker."

"Right." He slid a thumb across his phone and flashed the screen at his father. "It was a picture of this locker. Over and over. I came to see what the deal was with it and..."

He gestured to the open door and Booth took his first good look at the body. The headless body. And his stomach sank.

"Give me your phone, Parks."

"But-

"Seriously? I am not having this discussion with you. It's evidence; hand it over."

Appropriately chagrined, Parker did as instructed.

Booth dropped it in a small plastic bag and handed it off to a tech before withdrawing his index cards and calling for his partner's attention.

"Bones?"

"The victim is female. Late twenties." A worried crease appeared in Brennan's brow. "The head is missing."

They exchanged a look confirming that they were on the same page.

True coincidences were rarities.

Brennan cleared her throat and broke eye contact first, choosing to stare at Parker instead and force a smile.

"Hello, Parker."

"Hey, Bones. Welcome home."

* * *

_**A/N: **__In today's episode of Sunsetdreamer Is Doing Whatever She Wants This Fic, Parker is a) not in England, because I can't even get into my sentiments on that, and b) calling Brennan 'Bones,' like he had been doing since he was four years old until it was decided that after seven-ish years, Temperance was going to be a thing. I am going rogue all up in here._


	3. Chapter 2

*waves* I haven't forgotten/abandoned this... there is a ton written, but there is also a ton NOT written, so my usual slow posting is just the way the cookie crumbles. But I had a lot of good fandom friend time this week (also super cute fandom friend baby time) so postable things are coming together. Please just remember, everything in this fic ends canon-wise at the Corpse/Canopy Pelant episode. I had way too much done prior to the finale to change it all in order to factor in new developments. Thank you for reading.

* * *

You, Sailor, on the lonely sea  
will you turn and promise me  
you'll always be alive.

**You, Sailor **Erin McKeown

_They don't throw a party for Christine's birthday. At one year old any party thrown is more for the adults, and carving out private time continues to be an ongoing battle for them, so a small scale celebration suits both partners. They have a dinner plan, and Brennan is prepared for the likely possibility of her father turning up at some point during the day prior to the arranged time (because he still operates on his own schedule, regardless of what she may have planned). But the majority of the day is theirs, the three of them, and though they are still adjusting (always adjusting, it seems), this is one of the days when they flow effortlessly and she finds herself wondering – not for the first time – how they can manage to get things so exactly right some days and so exactly __**wrong **__others._

_He wakes up before she does, though when she moves her legs beneath the blankets, his side is still warm to the touch. A high pitched shriek of laughter disturbs the morning quiet and without strain, Brennan can envision Booth riling up their daughter in the name of good birthday fun. She slips out of the bed and leaves the knot of sheets and blankets where they lay in favour of following the noise down the hall._

"_Hey, look who's awake!" Booth points at her from his position on the floor. "Mommy!"_

_Christine delivers a clumsy echo of the title and flails her arms excitedly._

_Brennan joins them on the floor. "Happy birthday, Christine," she says simply, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her daughter's head._

_Booth leans back on his palms and fixes her with a particularly charming look she is not certain she feels like indulging. _

"_Wanna go for a run?"_

"_What, together?" she frowns. "We can't, Booth. Not today."_

_Their odd jogs together have always fallen outside of their ordinary routine. Special, to a certain degree. But these special occasions are fewer still now that Booth and Brennan have Christine, and are more or less limited in their ability to make spontaneous personal decisions. And today is not a day Brennan especially cares to leave her daughter in someone else's care._

_But Booth shakes his head. "No, I mean, with her. She's old enough now to get a kick out of it, I think."_

_He watches her face expectantly. There's a hint of wariness as well, and Brennan can see him preparing a defensive reply in the event that she disagrees. She finds that he does this often, now, and she's mostly sure it's yet another thing that's tied to her (forgiven, but not forgotten) disappearance with Christine. He's constantly proving (whether to her or himself, she isn't certain) that he's an equal parent who is every bit as entitled to opinions regarding their daughter as she is. And it's something they will have to address, eventually, but not today. Today, her moment of quiet stems solely from the simplicity of this solution and the fact that it has never before occurred to her._

"_That could work quite nicely."_

"_Great!" Booth smiles at her as he jumps up from the floor, and Christine's gaze follows his movement inquisitively. "I'll get her ready."_

"_I will get changed." Brennan rises, bringing Christine up with her, and passes her off to Booth. "You can push the stroller."_

"_Thanks, Bones," Booth quips._

"_It was your idea, Booth. It's only fair."_

"_Fine." He bounces Christine affectionately and adopts the lighter tone he uses when speaking to their daughter. "With or without the stroller, we're gonna kick mommy's ass, right, baby girl?"_

_Brennan chuckles. "I guess we'll see."_

"_Loser buys coffee?"_

"_Loser buys coffee," she confirms._

_The neighbourhood they live in is in no way equal to the familiar paths of the mall, but the streets are satisfactory and Brennan's thought is that should Christine not take to this new activity as well as anticipated, by running here they will at least be close to home. When she comes back down the stairs, Booth is already waiting outside, and since Christine is already bundled into the stroller and Booth is making no move to get into the car, she concludes that they are on the same page. She's a second away from announcing her presence when Booth leans into the stroller and speaks first._

_"Okay, sweetheart. I'm going to give you a bit of advice, and you better be listening because you are every bit as stuck with your mom as I am; never let her win. Never let her win anything, ever. She's not exactly renowned for being a gracious victor, you get me? We need to win this thing." _

_"What are you doing?" _

_"Do you mind? This is a private conversation." _

_"You're speaking rather loudly." _

_"That doesn't count as permission for you to listen in." _

_Christine kicks eagerly in the stroller and Brennan is distracted from making a suitable reply. Instead, she adjusts the blanket to once again cover the baby's restless feet. "Please keep all the wheels in contact with the ground at all times, okay, Booth? I get nervous when you 'pop wheelies'." _

_"You just make sure you're warmed up, okay? I don't want to hear any of your excuses when we win." _

_"You're not going to win." _

_"Do you want a head start? Because I'll give you a head start... even though I've already got the stroller and therefore the disadvantage and- _

_She rolls her eyes and takes off. _

_He follows close behind, tipping the stroller upward to fly along on two wheels and listening to Christine's delighted laughter as they go. _

_He's a little faster than she is. A little stronger. But she has always challenged him and the stroller __**is **__an actual hindrance, and the smug look on her face when she reaches the line of trees they generally consider their endpoint makes him wish he hadn't teased her quite as much as he had before they left._

"_I won," she states. Her skin is flushed and sweaty, and he is awed by her beauty._

"_You usually do, Bones."_

_He watches her face freeze for a moment as she tries to determine whether this is a teasing remark or one of the comments with an underlying tone of snide borderline-hostility that are on the rise between them. It lasts for less than the span of a full breath, but it's there just the same and he's reminded that this is something they will have to eventually discuss. But not today._

"_A lot can change in a year," Brennan says softly._

_Change for the better. Change for the worst. Maluku, Afghanistan, Hannah, Christine, Pelant. They are so aware now of how much things can shift in less than a year. But they shift, eventually, back to something good. And he likes to think that they are mostly in such a place right now._

"_Tell me about it. This exact time last year we were eating breakfast at the diner with no idea this little girl was half a day away from busting free, guns blazing."_

_Brennan's nose crinkles at the choice of words, but she doesn't comment on it. Instead she unbuckles Christine and sets her on her feet. "We should let her walk."_

"_We let her walk the whole way, we won't make it home before tomorrow."_

"_Not the __**whole **__way... just until she gets tired."_

_They look very ordinary, strolling through a residential area with a near-toddler progressing independently between them on shaky legs. In some regards, they are. And this is what Booth chooses to see. Because ordinary families are not torn apart by psychopaths with too much time on their hands and they are not constantly forced to relearn how to live together. If they can __**seem **__ordinary for long enough than perhaps they can hold on to the best things ordinary has to offer, even if it means a piece of what had made them __**extra**__ordinary must be sacrifice._

_(So he gets a little angrier a little easier, because deep down he knows he's trying to fit square pegs into circular holes, but he's too stubborn to give in to the truth just yet. He can't find that part of him which had just naturally complemented all the parts of her without any amount of thought. He had lost his family, and with them had gone all sense of control over his life as well as his confidence. And now he overcompensates.) _

_They make it to the end of the street before Christine releases a small whine of discontent and then lets her legs go limp, falling firmly onto her diapered bottom. She looks up at her parents from the ground, and if a one year old were capable of being wilfully defiant, Booth is pretty sure that this is what it would look like._

"_I think someone's about done with the walking."_

"_I concur," Brennan replies dryly. "Her approach seems dramatic, but it is admittedly very effective when it comes to communicating her desires."_

"_God help us when she starts stringing sentences together."_

_She laughs, he laughs, Christine – now off the ground and nestled comfortably on her mother's hip – laughs, and the ordinary day in their extraordinary life continues. _

_The dinner passes pleasantly and neither one of them finds it surprising when Christine falls asleep well before their friends leave. Brennan puts her to bed, and a few minutes after she rejoins the conversation downstairs she catches Booth taking in not only her, but the entire scene, with an expression she can't quite read. As always, it takes close to no time for him to feel her eyes and when his gaze swings to meet hers, he breaks into a wide smile. Feeling playful, she winks at him and feels all sorts of triumphant when his eyes dance merrily before he winks back._

_**He knows the truth of you, and he is dazzled by that truth.**_

_Sometimes she allows herself to believe this with utmost certainty._

* * *

"Do they assign the lockers at this school alphabetically, or by grade?"

Booth looked up from his conversation with one of the other agents and realised that Brennan had been staring at the locker for some time, despite the remains no longer being inside of it.

Excusing himself, and sparing a quick glance off to the side where his son still stood, he moved to stand beside her.

"Alphabetically, I think. I'll check. The locker belongs to Clara Ryder... tenth grade. A year under Parker. She didn't come to school today, but her mother has already confirmed that she's camped out on the couch with the flu."

The frown on Brennan's face deepened, and Booth took a step closer to follow her line of sight.

"What is it?"

"These books." Brennan pulled a stack of novels from the top shelf and flipped through them. "To Kill a Mockingbird, The Merchant of Venice, Inherit the Wind. These are appropriate for an early high school curriculum. _These _are not."

Booth took the volumes she held out to him.

The White Hotel. The French Lieutenant's Woman.

His frown matched hers as he began to carefully thumb through the pages.

And then his jaw clenched.

He angled the book toward Brennan and watched as the stone curtain immediately dropped over her expression upon seeing the organic contents.

"The bird's-foot trefoil represents revenge," she translated clinically. "Orange lilies are hate. Hatred and revenge."

Booth nodded and snapped the book shut, depositing the entire stack into a plastic evidence tub. Then he raised his voice to issue general direction.

"Alright; all of this to the Jeffersonian. You guys know the drill. Parker, you're with us."

The other agents and technicians immediately moved to follow orders while Parker took an extra second to realise he had been included in the list of commands. Then he picked up his backpack and hustled to catch up.

* * *

"Call your dad and get him to head for the lab; we can bring him up to speed when he gets there. If Christine can't be with us, she should be with him. But remember not-

-not to give him any details over the phone? I know how this works, Booth."

"Right."

"What about Parker?"

"We'll keep him with us for now..." Booth's voice trailed off and he flexed his grip on the steering wheel. "I'll need to figure something out with Rebecca. Christ, the only good thing about all that time Parker was in England-

"I know, Booth."

"I'm right here," Parker's voice rose from the back seat. "Can you stop talking about me like I'm not _right here_?"

Booth glanced in the rear view mirror and met the masterful scowl that seemed to come naturally to those sixteen years of age. Parker sat forward in his seat absorbing every word, and Booth was reminded that he was older now and would expect real answers instead of glossed over, generic lessons about good guys and bad guys.

Another first. Exactly what he needed right now.

"You're going with us to the Jeffersonian, Park. I'll get your mom to meet us there when she can."

"But _why_? What's different?"

"Booth... I know it may have been easier, then, but the reality is, they're not in England anymore."

"Can we talk about this later?"

"Dad-

"Parker, we _will _talk about this, okay, I just need to get everyone accounted for first."

It wasn't the way Brennan wanted to handle it. It made her uneasy when they didn't have an approach or strategy to put into immediate play. But they were almost at the lab and it would be easier once they had the body; they could start the investigation and she would have something more to do than sit in the car with Booth and Parker, worrying.

Christine's empty booster seat sat beside Parker, and Brennan forced herself with great difficulty to think about what she had seen of the body and not the whereabouts of Max and her daughter. Christine was safe with her father. He would protect Christine with his life. Max was already an expert at avoiding electronic communication. And yet she couldn't help wishing she could have the physical, tangible, reassuring presence of Christine seated beside her brother where she belonged.

Her phone chirped and she answered it eagerly, grateful for the distraction.

"Brennan."

"Dr. Temperance Brennan. It is _great _to hear your voice again."

She glanced at Booth, but he was still negotiating with Parker and he paid her no mind.

"What do you want?"

"What, I can't just want to catch up with an old friend?"

"We are _not _friends."

She had Booth's attention now. And Parker's.

"You haven't found the present I left for you, have you?" Pelant clicked his tongue. "I took it easy on you, this being all about getting reacquainted and all. I feel like I'm just playing against myself right now; it's a little bit disappointing."

"I see your need to talk about yourself hasn't changed."

"This game would be a lot more fun if you weren't always such a baby about playing."

"I haven't missed anything," Brennan said with certainty. "Are we done?"

"Oh no, Dr. Brennan. I can assure you, we're just getting started."

The call was disconnected and Brennan slipped the phone back into her pocket.

"Should we bother with the disposable cell phones this time, or shall we just assume he'll eventually find us regardless and continue using the ones we have?" she asked cynically.

Booth didn't bother giving her an answer.

* * *

Cam drummed her fingers restlessly against the top of her desk and frowned at the pieces of bone resting on the stainless steel tray in front of her. Then the telltale _whoosh_ of the lab doors preceded Booth and Brennan's voices.

"_Hodgins; get started on these and I'll check in with Cam."_

"_Where the hell are the remains?"_

"_We left first, Bones. Give it another ten minutes."_

She stood up and walked briskly toward the door, meeting Booth and Brennan just outside of it.

"Welcome home, Dr. Brennan."

"Hello."

"You've brought quite a bit of excitement back here with you."

"So it would seem."

"What have you got, Cam?" Booth cut in.

Cam stepped to one side so that they could see into her office. "I had a meeting first thing this morning; this was sitting on the table when I came in."

Brennan approached the table and immediately began sorting the fragments as she pieced the skull together in her mind.

"What are the odds this is the missing skull belonging to our body?"

Booth finally said the words aloud, and while Brennan raised an eyebrow, she didn't outright agree with him. He found this normalcy comforting.

Cam folded her arms across her chest. "Does the rest of the body look like this?"

Brennan shook her head without looking up from the tray. "No. The remains we retrieved from Parker's school are covered in flesh. I propose we trade, for the time being."

"You take the skull, I take the body?"

"Yes. Assuming it ever gets here."

It had been less than ten minutes since Booth and Brennan had arrived at the Jeffersonian, but arriving before the body when Pelant was involved made everyone justifiably uneasy.

"Alright; let's get to it."

* * *

Parker sat on the couch in Brennan's office and pretended to read his history textbook, when in actuality, he was watching Booth watch the door. Before he could decide on an opener, Booth turned to face him as if he had just remembered that there was someone else in the room.

"Are you feeling okay, Parker? Do you... want to talk about what you saw? I know it's shocking and scary and-

"Dad, I'm fine."

"-and it's okay if you're feeling-

"Really, I'm fine." Parker waited patiently for Booth to stop talking. "Bones lets me watch her work sometimes. And I've seen a million crime scene photos at the house."

The concern in Booth's face was temporarily replaced with surprise. "What? When?"

"When you're up late you guys sometimes leave those folders stacked on a table... I got curious. You should probably start putting them on a counter or something where Christine can't reach them."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah. Well, I mean, I found that finger when I was little and I turned out fine, so maybe it's not that big a deal..."

"Unbelievable," Booth muttered.

Parker attempted to be consoling. "Christine's a little weird... she'd probably think it's cool."

"I should have been a teacher. Teachers' kids do not have these problems."

"Are _you _okay, dad?" Parker quipped.

Booth blinked and then waved a hand through the air. "Okay, here's the thing, Parker; what happened at your school today, Bones and I are pretty sure we know who's responsible. And he's someone who wouldn't be above using you to further his own agenda. So I'm going to show you his picture and if you see him, or even think you see him, you call me."

Parker felt his stomach flip nervously, but he flashed his father a wry smile regardless. "Does that mean I get my phone back?"

Booth rolled his eyes, but visibly relaxed. "Way to focus on the big picture, bub. I'm glad to see you're making an effort."

They shared a smile. It was the last moment of peace to be had for the rest of the day, and it was broken by Rebecca storming into Brennan's office.

"Parker's okay?" she demanded without preamble.

"He's fine."

"Fine, mom." Parker echoed.

Rebecca nodded and a fraction of the tension left her stance. She tossed her bag onto the couch beside Parker and then leaned down to kiss his forehead. Parker wrinkled his nose, but he didn't protest outright.

"Hi."

"Hi, sweetheart."

Booth waited for Rebecca to seat herself next to their son. No matter how many years passed, no matter how much they changed, there would be threads of their lives which would stay the same for as long as Parker lived and breathed. Maybe they hadn't been right for one another, but they had made one damn fine kid.

She rested her elbows on her knees and steepled her hands, tapping her mouth absently with her index fingers as she leaned forward.

"How bad is this?" she asked calmly.

Booth's reply was simple. "It's pretty bad."

Rebecca nodded. "Let's get this figured out then."

* * *

Brennan's attention was pulled from the skull fragments by a shrill shriek that could belong to no other than her progeny. However, Angela's voice was quick to follow, as were the loud footsteps of both their children, and with a roll of her tense shoulders, she relaxed.

It wasn't unheard of for Michael or Christine to be present in the lab in the middle of the day; with parents who worked full time, a bit of juggling was inevitable. But this... Christine, Michael, Parker, Rebecca, Max; there were far too many extra bodies in the lab and she was distracted and if they didn't figure something out soon, she was going to pack her things and move deep into bone storage and hope no one thought to look for her.

Pelant had more of a hold on her, more of a hold on Booth, than either of them cared to admit. He had divided them when previous to him, they had only managed to divide themselves. Booth had _chosen _to go to Afghanistan. She had _chosen _to go to Maluku. Their decisions (their often impulsive, fear based decisions) had previously left them with only themselves to blame, and then Pelant had stepped in and robbed them of any real choice when they had been at their most vulnerable. And they had cracked. Again. When Inger Johannsen's spine had been discovered at the museum it had only been a handful of months after Hannah had left. After Vincent-Nigel Murray had died. After she and Booth had begun a tentative relationship and then conceived a child. And four months after that, they had still been adjusting. They had been too new to handle the weight of Pelant's actions without sustaining a blow from which they would never fully recover. They hadn't been stable and Pelant had added a new scar.

But they were stable now. The team was stable. And she was in full control of her future because there was no such thing as fate.

Booth rapped on the doorframe of the bone room and Brennan reluctantly put down her glue.

"Rebecca's taking Parker out to stay with her parents."

She put her hands in the pockets of her lab coat and rested her hip against the table. "Is she very upset?"

"She's not happy, that's for sure. It could have been worse though."

"This is a temporary solution; Parker can't stay there indefinitely. He has school."

"Lucky his stepmom's a genius who can tutor him." Booth winked. Then he grew serious and shrugged when Brennan only waited expectantly for a real answer. "We're going to take it a week at a time."

Brennan's mouth opened, but closed just as quickly. And she nodded before picking up a shard of bone and the glue.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"You may as well say it, Bones. Come on."

"I don't believe that this decision is the right one. It would be easier for you to keep an eye on him if he remained in the city."

"Parker's a sixteen year old boy; he's not going to take it well if he's told that he gets to stay here on the condition that he's chaperoned everywhere he goes."

"I think you're underestimating Parker, Booth," Brennan said carefully.

Booth's hands moved to his hips. "How so?"

"He's young, yes. And while he has the occasionally selfish impulses that are to be expected of someone his age, he is bright and considerate and perceptive... he loves you. He won't make this more difficult than it has to be simply because he wishes to be free to gallivant with his friends."

Booth took a moment to consider this and then dismissed it with a shake of his head. "I'd prefer him away from here. Far, far away from here."

Brennan frowned and carefully glued two fragments together. "Does that apply to Christine as well?"

It was a general quip meant to demonstrate how fundamentally flawed the idea was. The words were out of her mouth before she gave them any second thought. And though the moment Booth had mentioned Pelant, she had known on some level that her run with Christine was likely to come up, she had never intended for the first mention of the elephant in the room to be such a tactless one.

"Nice."

"Booth-

He turned on his heel and headed for the door. "I'm going to see what's taking the techs so long with that tape."

"Booth, come on."

"I'll call you later."

He disappeared around the corner and Brennan let the glue forcefully hit the table. "Damn it."

* * *

It was just past one when Brennan was again pulled from her work. She raised her head expecting to see Booth (surprised but not unpleased that he had come over for lunch), but was instead faced with her father.

Her disappointment must have been more evident than she realised, because Max immediately laughed.

"Don't look so happy to see me, Tempe."

One half of Brennan's mouth quirked upward. "Sorry. I thought you were Booth."

"Can't compete with that, I guess."

"Where is Christine?"

"She's having a field day with Michael in Hodgins' office."

Brennan nodded and then rested the partially constructed skull on the table before snapping off her gloves. "I should look in on her."

"She's fine." Max protested as she rounded the table.

"I'm sure she is."

"So finish your work; I'm watching her."

Brennan worked her jaw back and forth and continued walking toward the door. "Perhaps it has not occurred to you that _I _could be the one not fine. I've barely interacted with my daughter this past week. I miss her. I am going to have lunch with Christine."

Max's expression turned momentarily apologetic. "You'll catch him, Temperance. Pelant's not smart enough to get away from you and Booth again."

"I know that," she replied bluntly.

"Then _relax_."

Brennan paused in the doorway. And she took a moment to be sure she wouldn't snap she when spoke, because there were days when her father made it _so hard _for her to not do exactly that.

"This is about my desire to spend time with Christine. Nothing more. If Booth comes by, let him know we've gone to the cafeteria."

"If? Why wouldn't Booth..." his voice trailed off as understanding set in. "You're fighting."

"That's none of your business."

"You're _definitely _fighting."

"Dad."

She couldn't keep the exasperation out of her tone any longer. After all this time, he still hadn't quite learned to stop _picking _at things when she was obviously not ready to discuss them.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Are you going to need a ride home?"

There was a small twinkle in his eye, and she focused on the knowledge that he really did try very hard to be good to her.

"No, thank you," she responded dryly. "Though the thought may cross his mind, I very much doubt that Booth would leave me stranded here."

She made it to Hodgins' office without further interruption after that. And she tried to pay strict attention to every excited word that left her daughter's mouth over the hour she took for lunch.

Christine chattered obliviously and Brennan found herself suddenly thinking of the days following being shot at the lab. She had spent all her time in a hospital bed hearing third party stories of her daughter's antics, and it had been different than going away for work and missing a milestone or a particularly endearing anecdote; there had been no choice on her part, and all she had wanted had been to hold her child herself. She thought of the weeks that had followed, when she had been home but unable to lift her. How that sense of disconnect from the hospital had carried over.

"I love you, Christine." She reached across the table and brushed her daughter's hair aside before cupping her cheek.

"Love you too."

The reply was automatic. Absent. Because Christine took her mother's love for granted in the way Brennan had once, when she had been very young. And she hoped, not for the first time, that this would always be the case; that her daughter would never have regrets tied to a preceding inability to conceive of a time when her mother wouldn't be there to take care of her.

* * *

"Hey Bones? Can we have pizza for dinner?"

Parker breezed into the room with the ease of his father and rested his backpack unobtrusively in a far corner.

Brennan blinked. "Dinner?"

"Yeah... you're familiar with the concept, right?"

He stood a step away from the table, hands tucked carefully into his pockets, and Brennan graced him with a small smile. "Yes, I'm familiar. What I mean to ask is, why you're asking my permission when it's my understanding that you'll be with your mother and grandparents for dinner."

Parker frowned. "I'm going home with you. I thought dad told you."

One eyebrow quirked upward in surprise, and she wondered at what point in the day Booth had decided to revisit the subject. In any case, the skull was still a handful of hours away from being fully reconstructed, and at this point, what she honestly wanted to do was get it done and then take a closer look at the rest of the remains.

"Where's Booth?"

"Here," Booth spoke from the doorway. His steps were sure and casual, but she could read in his eyes that he was – quite like her – trying to figure out whether or not they were still fighting.

"Look, mommy; I'm a polar bear."

From atop her partner's broad shoulders, Christine stretched her hands comically above her head.

"So I see," Brennan chuckled.

"Bones? Pizza?" Parker pressed.

"That would be acceptable. Booth, I'll need a few more hours before I'm finished. Would you be able to-

"No," Booth shook his head. "Everyone's on their way out... you shouldn't be here alone. Especially now."

Brennan let a beat pass and then picked up her sentence where he had interrupted her, staring at him evenly as she spoke. "... Would you be able to take care of Parker and Christine in the morning so that I can come in early."

She tried not to take it personally when Booth assumed she was going to do something unnecessarily risky, but there were moments when this proved difficult. Especially considering he could hear her entirely reasonable plans if he would just let her finish her damn sentences. But she had slipped today as well, and in the interest of keeping the peace, she could leave this offence unacknowledged.

Some days, there were no winners. Only two weary people left to recover in their corners before the beginning of the next round.

"Sure." Booth flushed ever so lightly for all of a second, and then it was gone. "You almost ready?"

He gave her a genuine smile and Brennan returned it. "I will meet you downstairs. I just need to put these away."

"We can wait, Bones." Parker shrugged.

"No big deal," Christine chimed in, in a perfect mimicry of a phrase she heard so often from her brother accompanied by a careful shrug of her own.

So Christine and Parker played quietly on the floor. Booth stepped outside the bone room just long enough to drag in a small desk, and then opened one of the many files he had kept tucked under his arm when he had entered the room. And Brennan watched them for a moment. Memorised the scene. And then she used the time allotted by their temporary tranquility to fit together several pieces of bone before calling it a day.

* * *

They settled in the living room once they finally managed to get Christine in bed, and the case files and notes they had gathered pertaining to Pelant were strewn out on the coffee table along with their wine glasses.

"Did you see the security video?"

"Yeah," Booth shifted forward in his seat. "There's nothing special about it... he looks at the camera, laughs at all of us, takes some money and leaves."

"He does not do anything without a reason."

"I know. I gave it to Angela; whatever it is we're supposed to take from it, it's probably imbedded in the feed somewhere."

"Heather Taffet had to abduct you before we were able to make any significant progress with the Gravedigger cases."

They'd been doing this in relative silence up until this point, but the tension was thickening, and Brennan couldn't wait any longer to say what was on her mind.

"You suggesting we serve me up as bait?" Booth responded dryly without looking up.

"Do not make jokes, Booth."

He wouldn't pretend he didn't understand her, though given how little he wanted to have this discussion, it was tempting.

"We'll get him before he tries to murder one of us, okay?"

"That's not what worries me. And... I don't believe that is what worries you, either."

Booth finally looked up, and for a moment there was silence once more as they dared the other person to be the one to draw attention to the elephant they were realising had never actually left the room.

In the end it was Brennan. Because at heart, still, he would rather move forward and never dwell on it again. Especially considering the years – the good, _happy _years – that had passed since.

"I won't leave," she said softly but firmly, ignoring the way he stiffened. "I can see it in your face. I can _feel _you watch me when you think I am not paying attention. And partly, it makes me angry and frustrated that you do not fully trust this. However, partly, I also understand that... these things leave marks. And sometimes- sometimes they cause reactions outside of our control. Sometimes panic takes us by surprise. So I will reassure you as many times as you need. I won't leave," she reiterated forcefully. "If I ever need to run again, you are running with me."

Booth's eyes softened and he tossed the folder in his hands onto the table. "You're right; it's taken me by surprise. But you're wrong, too; I do trust you. I trust this." He moved closer to her side and dipped his head toward hers. "And I trust that, sometimes when your brain tells you that anyone who's left will leave again, you need to tell your brain to shut the hell up and follow _this_ instead."

He tapped her chest and she chuckled. "My breasts?"

"Heart, Bones. Heart." He rolled his eyes. "God, can you ever kill a mood."

"Excuse me? I started this _mood_." She put her own hand over his heart – with far greater accuracy – and let it linger for a moment before returning determined eyes to the file spread across her lap.

"Do you believe in fate?"

"No," she replied bluntly. It was her turn to not so much as glance up.

"And what are your thoughts on pie?"

"I hate pie." She raised her head. "You _know _I hate pie. A few – brief – months of pie consumption while flooded with hormones – almost _five _years ago – do not count. Let it go."

This time, Booth's smile went all the way to his eyes. "Pelant isn't going to win this. Not again. It's our turn to fly off into the sunset."

In their early years, it hadn't been clear to Brennan in the way it was now that Booth – often even amidst his assurances – needed assuring himself. But she understood him and they shared a life, and she could see the connection between hope and pie.

While so much changed, there would always be things that just... didn't. And there was comfort in consistency.

"I like winning, Booth. And so do you."

Good ultimately triumphed over evil, and that was the end. Because they've done this a thousand times before.

With matching half smiles playing across their mouths, they returned to their work and let the silence resume.


End file.
